I don’t know what to say to Ghost. I don’t know how to talk to him after last night.
How do you say,Sorry I didn’t reply. I was busy getting my cherry popped by my brother’s teammate?How do you keep texting someone your secrets, your desires, your most intimate thoughts, when someone else is living them out with you in real time? It’s not fair, and it’s not right. And the guilt is sitting heavy in my chest like a stone I can’t swallow.
I bite my lip and glance toward the men again. Jace is laughing at something Dan, their equipment manager, said—his abs flexing, his neck glistening, tattoos stretched tight across his skin.
For a moment, I imagine something that feels both impossible and too perfect to be real.
What if they were the same person? What if every time I texted Ghost… it was Jace on the other end? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, the theories filling my head with each passing moment.
Jace knows things about me. Things he shouldn’t—unless Dom told him. But the thing is, I’m not even sure Dom himself knows about them. It would make too much sense. If he was Ghost, all of this—the mess, the guilt, the confusion—it would click into place.
But he’s not. I’m aware of the delusions I’m planting inside my own head. And every second I don’t text Ghost back, I feel like I’m betraying him more and more.
The panic won’t let up.
It’s been clawing at me all day, thick and tight in my chest like I swallowed it whole. Every time I see Jace, every time I hear Dom’s voice, every time I pass a mirror and catch the glow in my cheeks, I think about Zed seeing us. Dom is the only person whom Zed talks to on his own accord. They know each other. And I also know Zed. I’ve seen him at our house a few times when I was little. He would over with Dom and have lunch after practice. He always seemed… cheerful. I, honestly didn’t recognize him when I saw him again. It took me two days to realize this is the same boy whose laugh I could hear through aclosed door. I asked Dom about him but he says he has no idea what happened to him either.
Now, all I know about Zed is that he saw Jace sneaking out of my room this morning. And if Dom finds out, I don’t even know what would happen.
Would he send me back home?
I can’t let that happen.
So I look for him.
It’s not hard. He’s impossible to miss—like a tall reaper on vacation, standing at the outdoor bar.
I take a long breath and make my way toward him.
Be normal. Say something normal.
I reach the bar, and he doesn’t even look at me.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Didn’t know you were a bartender too.”
Idiot.
“I’m not.” Zed keeps his eyes on the glass in front of him.
Cool. Great start.
He picks up a clean glass, grabs the ice, and drops it in. Then speaks again.
“Of course. How much sugar?”
For once, his deep voice isn’t quiet. It’s loud enough to carry.
“What?” I blink.
“One spoon alright?” He flicks his eyes to the side.
I follow his gaze and spot Dom immediately. He’s leaning against the porch railing, watching us like he’s trying to read lips.
Oh.
Zed’s making coffee. For both of us.
“Thanks.” I straighten and force a casual shrug.
